


Blind

by niaxundead



Category: Original Work
Genre: Loneliness, Lost - Freeform, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 18:57:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12018981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niaxundead/pseuds/niaxundead
Summary: I approach the motel and stand on the cracked concrete, waiting for her to finish scolding someone I can’t see or hear. The door of the last room slams shut and she turns around. She wears a dress and has short blond hair, but I can’t see her face. Why can’t I see her face? “Hi,” I say casually. “I’d like a room please.” She nods and pulls a key out of her pocket and hands it to me. I thank her and she walks past me with speaking. I turn my head, my eyes following her stride behind me but she disappears.





	Blind

I’d been walking for days in this dead infested world. I had been days since I had consumed anything. My mouth felt dry, my stomach empty and I wanted to stop. Giving up and letting the desert take me sounded so enticing, but I couldn't give up, I had to keep going. But why. There was something motivating me to keep moving, but what was it? I don't know. I push my feet forward, forcing them through the deep sand of the desert. A building suddenly appears not twenty feet before me. I stop and stare at its worn planks. But what would a building be doing in the middle of nowhere? I'm hallucinating! No that's not what it's called. It's a mirage. Yes a mirage. It has to be, it was just an empty desert moments ago. The building was one story and had a row of about five rooms connected together. Light wooden paneling covers the outside of the conjoined rooms, all weathered and worn. I sprint towards it, hoping my mind isn't playing a trick and hoping it's free of those dreaded animated corpses, hoping I could take shelter there. Hoping it's safe. As I get closer I hear a mature woman’s voice yelling at someone. Her loud voice echo’s through out the empty desert and I want to warn her, tell her yelling isn’t a good ideas but I don’t. I approach the motel and stand on the cracked concrete, waiting for her to finish scolding someone I can’t see or hear. The door of the last room slams shut and she turns around. She wears a dress and has short blond hair, but I can’t see her face. Why can’t I see her face? “Hi,” I say casually. “I’d like a room please.” She nods and pulls a key out of her pocket and hands it to me. I thank her and she walks past me with speaking. I turn my head, my eyes following her stride behind me but she disappears. I shrug and open the door to the middle room without putting in the key. I step in, closing the door behind me, not bothering to lock it and look around. The floor was covered in dirty tan carpet and the walls were off white. There was and old box television that looked like it had come straight out of the 80’s sitting on top of a small black TV stand in the right corner of the room with a dusty blue armchair in front of it. The TV stand had a small DVD player tucked inside with a clutter of DVDs I had never heard of. To the left of the front door was the kitchen. It contained a small white refrigerator and the tiniest black stove I’ve ever seen. The small shelves held a few cans and there was dirty clothes and trash on the floor. Hell there was dirty clothes and trash all over the motel room. The living area didn’t have a couch, just a full sized unmade bed with dull sheets and a blanket. T the right of the bed was a stack of small mattresses that looked like they for made for children rather than a grown person. They were stacked in a folded metal frame. The bathroom was tiny like everything else. It had a pink tub filled with old broken toys and more dirty clothes. Right beside the tub was a toilet that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in months and next to the toilet was an equally disgusting sink. Everything was in the bathroom was in a row, leaving barely any space between them. Black dusty shelves occupied the space between the front door and the kitchen, nick knacks and food cluttering them. I set my backpack on the and I hear him, my son. I hear my son. He’s talking to me but I can’t see him. Where is he? My eyes scan the room but see nothing. I hear his voice again, my eyes shift again searching the small room for that small sweet voice but he is no where even though he sounds everywhere. I want to call to him but I can’t remember his name. Why can’t I remember my own child's name? “Mama I want to watch something,” is the only thing I can make out and suddenly that anxious feeling is replaced with annoyance. I crouch down in front of the old TV and look at the DVDs in the CD cases. “Okay. What do you want to watch,” I ask him casually. Casually, but why casually? I don’t understand myself. I should be searching for him not looking for a movie. I hear his voice again but I can’t make out his words and I see can’t see him. Why can’t I see him?


End file.
